I Hear Peace (in the Rhythms of Your Voice)
by yumi michiyo
Summary: A collection of drabbles, vignettes, and short pieces set in the universe of The Shortest Distance, and a sequel of sorts. Rated for implied explicit content.
1. Moving In

**Author's Notes: **Set a short while after _The Shortest Distance_. Quinn's POV. Mostly indulgent fluff to get back into the headspace of this universe.

* * *

Quinn sat, exhausted, on the couch. _Their _couch now – she smiled to herself as she ran a hand over the upholstery. Marley had offered to shift it to another room and they could buy a new couch, but she had declined the offer; there were too many fond memories tied up in it now.

"Quinn?"

"In here," she called back.

Less than a minute later, Marley appeared in the doorway. "I was wondering where you'd disappeared to," she groused. "You could've taken me with you."

She smiled. "You looked like you were having the time of your life sorting through my book collection."

"Time of my life? Really?" Marley slumped onto the couch, dropping her head on Quinn's shoulder. "I was mentally calculating how many IKEA shelves we'll need to get to hold them all."

Quinn gasped in mock outrage. "You're exaggerating. If we'll need to get new shelves at all, it'll be because you have so many books of your own that mine won't fit."

Marley laughed. "Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a little. But seriously, we have way too many books between the two of us." She sat up and kissed Quinn's cheek. "C'mon. I've got a surprise for you."

"For me?"

"I like how that's what you choose to focus on," said Marley dryly, in tones that exactly matched Quinn's acerbic style. It was something Quinn didn't care for, even if it was coming from her girlfriend, and so she retaliated by lightly bopping Marley's arm, producing a soft 'ow'.

"Stop laughing and show me this surprise," retorted Quinn. It was a much less scathing response than what the older members of her faculty normally got, but she was actually fond of Marley.

Beaming, Marley tangled her fingers with Quinn's and led the way. They bypassed Marley's – _their_ – bedroom, the guest room, coming to stop in front of a closed door at the end. "Open it."

"Isn't this your storage room?"

Marley shook her head. The movement caused hair to fall out of her already-messy ponytail. "Not anymore."

Quinn's fingers curl around the brass doorknob and turn it. She was here only once before, when Marley had asked her to retrieve a piece of kitchen equipment her mom had packed in her usual care package. It had arrived in the middle of an album launch, and Marley hadn't the time to unpack the box then.

The room was devoid of boxes now. A large wooden desk, paired with matching chair, dominated the modest space. One wall of the room was lined with modern bookshelves, all empty.

Quinn stared. "What's this?"

Arms slid around her waist; Quinn reflexively leaned into her girlfriend's embrace. "I thought you'd appreciate a home office. You complain about not having any peace in your room at the college with your colleagues constantly bugging you about minor things."

"But, your things…"

"Can go elsewhere. I've sorted them out."

Quinn turned in Marley's arms. Her hands curled around Marley's shoulders, pulling her closer. "How did you manage all this?"

"It wasn't difficult at all. Britt helped with the IKEA shopping and assembling the furniture; she'd come over when you worked late." A sly smile crossed her face. "You work too much, did you know that?"

"I love you." The words fell from Quinn's mouth before she could stop them. She blushed hot. "Um – I should've said thank you first."

Marley just laughed and gave Quinn's waist a squeeze. "That works for me, too," she said, leaning forward to steal a kiss. "Now – you gonna help me move your books in here?"

"Mmm." Quinn deepened the kiss, tightening her grip on Marley's shoulders to stop her retreat. "Now?" She let a contented sigh escape her as fingers find her scalp and scratch lightly.

"Later?" suggested Marley playfully.

"Later suits me fine." Quinn grinned at her. "But what are we doing now?"

Marley sighed. "Like you have to ask, Quinn Fabray," she grumbled. "Playing innocent isn't doing you any favors."

"Well, I just want to make sure…"Quinn dived in and nipped the side of Marley's neck teasingly, drawing a gasp from the younger woman. "... that we're on the same page." She drew her tongue over her upper lip with exaggerated slowness. From the hungry look in blue eyes that follow every movement, Quinn knows Marley was thinking about the night of the awards.

"In broad daylight? How scandalous."

Quinn winked. "I remember that you enjoy it when I'm being scandalous. Like in the car."

Marley's mouth went slack.

"Now, let's go. I don't need to christen my new home office, that honor's reserved for our bedroom."


	2. Anti-Climactic

**Author's Notes: **Going back in time a little, this oneshot explains how Rachel and Santana got together in the TSD universe. Mike has very graciously agreed to beta and Americanize this series, and showed just how good he is at his job by completely overhauling this fic. More than half of the finished product only exists because of him.

This is set in the summer before Marley's junior year and Part Three of _The Shortest Distance_.

* * *

There was a rumor going around William McKinley High that Santana Lopez's middle name was Diabla. _The Devil_, Jacob ben-Israel was fond of declaring dramatically into his camera – of course, only when Santana was safely out of earshot.

But these incidents were usually followed by glitter in his locker or enough slushies to make it look like he was a rainbow snowman. He knew Santana was behind it, but all of his investigative skills could never prove anything. And eventually, Jacob learned to find other, more interesting (and less vindictive) targets for his brand of journalism.

Santana Lopez, therefore, was highly skilled at keeping people out of her private business.

Too bad Rachel Barbra Berry didn't care about that.

* * *

Santana's troubles began when she'd left high school and Lima behind in her rearview mirror for good. Or, more accurately, when she'd arrived in New York and on the doorstep of the only two people she knew there.

Sure, Rachel was a pain in the ass and Kurt seemed to care more about his hair than anything else, but they were good people. Santana would know; she'd bullied them both (indirectly and directly) enough in high school to know they both had more spine than your average anatomy classroom skeleton.

They'd all changed over the years. It was impossible not to, with everything the big city threw at them. Rachel got less crazy, Kurt more streetwise. Hell, maybe _she'd_ even learned a thing or two.

Mostly, Santana thought, she'd learned patience. Patience not to wring Rachel's neck when she tried to practice scales at six _fucking _AM because "I have a callback, Santana, and I don't think my voice will be sufficiently warmed up in this chilly weather if I don't start early".

The patience comes in handy when she finds herself at the Berrys' doorstep and manages not to run away.

Her dad – _Black Berry_, her brain supplies – eventually answers the door. "Hello, Santana," he says, sounding wary. "It's good to see you. I thought you would be travelling home with Rachel for the summer, since you two live together and all." He chuckles as though he's told a joke.

"Hi, Mr. Berry," she says.

"Leroy," he chides.

"Leroy." She really isn't in the mood for anything – well, Santana Lopez-ish. "Nah, not this year. Something unexpected came up at the last minute." This makes the man's eyebrows rise, but Santana ignores it. "I'm sorry to intrude, is Ber-Rachel home?"

Rachel's father is tall and as solidly built like a brick outhouse. "No, but she will be soon," says Leroy, scratching the side of his neck. "She just called to say she's on her way home from Shelby's." The slight wrinkling of his nose when he says Shelby's name tells Santana that the woman isn't his favorite person.

"Shelby's?"

"They're having a little party for Beth's birthday."

"Ah."

Leroy smiles kindly. "Would you like to come in and wait for her?"

"I…"

He opens the door wider and stares at her, daring her to turn his offer down. "I've just made hot cocoa. I don't mean to boast, but my hot cocoa could win awards if there was such a thing. Care to try some?"

Santana nods. "Thank you, Leroy."

"Glad we've established that. You can go back to calling me Mr. Berry if my cocoa doesn't pass muster."

She manages a smile for him. Over the years, she's learned there are a lot worse things out there than being gay and married in midwestern America. Now she's older and more mature, Santana's acquired a new degree of respect for the Berry family.

By the time Rachel arrives home, she's considerably more relaxed than before, curled up on the couch with a mug in her hands, criticizing the contestants on _Project Runway _with Leroy. "Daddy? I'm home – " She pauses, one boot off. "Santana?"

"Uh, hi, Rachel."

Leroy stands up. "I've got the ingredients for your special cocoa all ready to go, honey," he says, making a long detour on his way to the kitchen to kiss the top of Rachel's head. "Let me make it now, then you can take it up to your room."

"Thank you, Daddy." Rachel doesn't take her eyes off Santana, who fidgets with her mug, suddenly shy. She takes the spot on the couch recently vacated by Leroy.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course." It comes out a little prickly; Santana winces. "I mean… I've been better, but I'm good." She looks back down at her cocoa, hoping Rachel won't notice – or, worse – comment, on her blush. She's mortified; Santana Lopez does not stumble over her words.

Rachel just gives her a small smile and says nothing.

"You have something there…" Santana pokes at Rachel's cheek and frowns in confusion.

"Oh," says Rachel, combing her fingers through her hair. "That's probably frosting."

"Do I even wanna know?"

"Beth is more like Noah then anyone could ever want," remarks Rachel. She fishes for her phone and shows Santana a photo of Quinn, Beth, and Puck. They're all smiling – Quinn considerably less than the other two and with good reason; all three are covered with cake frosting. "He taught her to throw cake."

"Charming."

Rachel laughs and nods her agreement.

"I didn't know Quinn was in town already," remarks Santana.

"I didn't know _you _were in town until now."

Santana averts her eyes. "Something came up." She doesn't want to talk; not yet, not when Leroy could walk in any moment. Talking about feelings is hard enough without bringing adults into the mix.

Rachel opens her mouth –

"Rachel, sweetheart!"

"Coming, Daddy!" She stands. "My room?" she says, and Santana nods.

The sounds of the TV are cut off once Rachel shuts the door of her room, leaving them in complete and awkward silence. Rachel promptly breaks it.

"Why are you here, Santana?"

The question is gentle, lacking the anger Santana expected to hear. But she cringes anyway; she's known Rachel long enough to hear what the other girl isn't saying out loud.

"Why can't I be here?" She deflects.

Rachel worries her lower lip between her teeth. "I wasn't expecting you to come, honestly. After – you know. What happened between us. You and Quinn are _so_ good at running away from your feelings."

The barb stings more than she'd expected it to do. "Yeah, about that... Jess and I called it quits."

"Oh, Santana."

"I told her about what we did."

Rachel visibly stiffens. "You did what?"

She shrugs. "I told her about the night we got drunk and slept together," says Santana. She feels oddly detached from the situation. "Which you keep alluding to but won't come out – _ha _– and say. That night."

"She couldn't forgive you for that?" Rachel's ire is unmistakable. "Why, that… _bitch_."

Santana shakes her head. Better to get things over and done with now. "She did forgive me."

"... I don't think I understand."

"Jess actually thanked me for being honest with her, and she said she was willing to look past it." She pauses. "_I_ broke up with _her_." Santana stands. She sets her mug on the nightstand, aware of Rachel's eyes following her every movement. "Jess was fun, but she was never gonna be more than that. Just like all the others." She's not actually good at long speeches, so she'll cut it short and hope to God that Rachel will understand what she's trying to say. "I suck at talking about feelings, so I'll only say this once: all this while, I was sure that Brittany had ruined me for good because I never could feel that way about anyone else. But you made me realize I was wrong."

Rachel has both hands flat on the bed, fingers flexing on the comforter. "... what are you trying to say, Santana?"

"I have feelings for you."

She lifts her head, eyes wide. "Are you sure about this?"

"God, I don't know. When have you ever known me to be good at knowing what I'm fucking feeling?" Santana shakes her head. "I just know I feel more for you than I've ever felt for Jess. Or Leah. Or the rest of them. Enough to get me off my ass to break it off and come to the gayest house in Lima fucking Ohio."

Rachel smiles suddenly. "While not exactly the romantic and heartfelt profession of love I've always dreamt of, I wouldn't expect anything else from you."

"... You're not freaking out."

"Why would I? I accepted my feelings for you a long time ago."

Speechless, Santana stares blankly at her.

Rachel slowly rises, smoothing out her skirt with both hands. "Santana, I've never had someone as complicated as you in my life before – the stereotypical mean cheerleader who became my best friend, and the person whom I can't imagine my life without. I even devoted a chapter to you in my memoir in which I'd talk about the numerous obstacles I overcame to become a beloved Broadway icon."

Santana chuckles. It's a sign of how far gone she is, that such a Rachel Berry statement is amusing to her instead of annoying.

"I've never had close female friends before. I latch onto people. I thought that whatever I was feeling for you was some combination of the two, and that sex would dispel that infatuation." Rachel pauses. "It just made it stronger."

"Oh."

"Yes."

Santana folds her arms across her chest. "So… you like me?"

Rachel rolls her eyes, but is still smiling. "Yes."

"And I'm pretty certain I like you."

Another eye roll. "I'm flattered."

Her smirk widens – out of relief or happiness, Santana isn't sure. "Can I kiss you now?"

"I'm glad you asked. And yes, you may."

The moment their lips touch, Santana is certain she hasn't made a mistake. Kissing Rachel feels right. And judging from the soft moan from Rachel as she deepens the kiss, Rachel feels the same way.

When they finally break apart, her hands are cupping Rachel's butt, holding her close. She would be embarrassed if Rachel's hands hadn't somehow wormed their way under her shirt. Santana just chuckles, feeling at peace with the world. "That was kinda amazing."

Rachel's staring at her, the adoration in her eyes clear to see. Knowing that it's for her makes Santana feel even better. "I'm glad you think so. I plan to be doing more of that in the near future."

"What, like now? Your dad's downstairs."

"Not _now_!" squeaks Rachel, sounding scandalized. "My room may be soundproofed, and Daddy is unaware of this development in our relationship, but I'm not about to… go further, this quickly."

Santana, in true Santana-fashion, only hears the first two points. "If I can make you come in two minutes flat when we weren't even dating, imagine what I can do now. Feelings make everything better, y'know."

Rachel mutters something like "asshole" and pinches the small of Santana's back; she yelps in pain. In her excitement, she'd forgotten Rachel's hands were still on her bare skin.

"Ow! I'm not into that!"

"Why do I even like you," says Rachel in a deadpan voice, an uncannily good impression of Quinn. "I meant when we're back in New York, and we can be alone."

"Then what happens now?" Santana struggles to keep her mind away from thoughts of _Rachel _and _alone_.

"We go downstairs, tell Daddy the news, and watch _Project Runway _with him until Dad comes home. Then we'll all go out for dinner; I imagine my dads will want to celebrate this milestone of my first lesbian relationship," says Rachel.

"You're joking."

"A little."

Santana can't believe she's this whipped, this early. "Fine."

"Fine?"

"Yeah. What, were you expecting me to bust through your window and run away screaming?"

"Only after I give you your personalized couple calendar," says Rachel.

Santana bursts out laughing; Rachel is quick to join in. "God, we've grown up," says Santana after she's calmed down a bit.

"I know. It feels weird."

She takes a chance. Santana pulls one of Rachel's hands out from under her shirt and entwines their fingers. "This doesn't, though."

Rachel's bright smile, and answering squeeze, makes Santana's heart melt a little more. "You know what's weird?" she says aloud. "When I imagined how this would go, the Rachel in my head did a lot more squealing."

This gets her a Rachel Berry-style huff. "I am not a pig, Santana Mariela Lopez."

"... Wait, you know my middle name?"

"Of course I do," scoffs Rachel. "You signed our apartment lease with your full name. Besides, you think I'd believe anything Jacob ben-Israel would say? That – _slimeball,_ used to insinuate that I was madly in love with him." She huffs her annoyance with what sounds like "Diabla, indeed".

Santana finds herself smiling again. Even though it niggles her a little to have something so personal out there – not even Quinn or Brittany know her middle name – Santana is surprisingly unbothered that Rachel knows. Another sign of how much she's changed. "You mean you weren't?" asks Santana teasingly. "I mean, you _did _have a way of looking at him."

Rachel chokes on her outrage. "You mean, with pure and undisguised contempt."

"That's exactly what I meant." She feels a little better now the conversation isn't directed at her, but can't resist a last dig at Rachel. "So what else do you know about me, hmm?"

Rachel mirrors her smirk. "You'll just have to stick around and find out, won't you?"


	3. Hugo's Story

**Author's Notes: **A short piece from Hugo's POV. Checked, corrected, it's yours courtesy of **_Mike Ownby_****.**

* * *

Hugo considered himself to be a lucky dog.

When he was a puppy, his previous humans' pack had another furry thing that made strange sounds and liked to steal his food. He'd fought back once, and received a nasty scratch on his nose for his trouble. From then on, whenever the strange furry thing walked near him, Hugo would hide until it was gone.

At least his new pack had no such furry things. Quiet-Human's house consisted of the two of them, which suited Hugo just fine.

Quiet-Human was his pack leader, the one who fed him. She alone of the pack lived in the house with him and was his favorite out of the pack humans; next came Big-Human who fed him pork rinds when no one was looking and knew how to scratch that itch on the middle of his back, then Loud-Human #I who gave him treats and spoilt him, then Loud-Human #2 who did the same but only if he didn't kiss her cheek (and when there were no other humans around). He did not like the devil creature that usually showed up with Loud-Human #2 because she made unpleasant sounds that hurt his ears whenever he tried to greet her.

Brittany wasn't included in Hugo's list because she was special. She was the only non-dog who could speak actual words that he understood instead of the babble that humans normally spoke at him.

Quiet-Human made a sound. Hugo's ear pricked; he recognised it as the name the humans had given him. Good things usually followed whenever he was called, like meals and walks, so he rushed to find her.

She lit up when she saw him, crouching down and babbling in her mysterious human way.

"Hello, Quiet-Human," he said, licking her hand politely. "I heard your call. How can I be of assistance?"

She babbled at him unintelligibly and scratched his ear. It was clear to Hugo that she had no idea what he was saying, and so it was up to him to read her body language, and try and decipher what she wanted him to do. Hugo watched her expression carefully.

His nose caught an unfamiliar scent. Hugo sniffed again; could Quiet-Human have interacted with other, unsavory, dogs outside? He buried his face in her hindquarters to investigate further, but was pushed away before he could discover anything.

Honestly, humans were the most unsociable creatures in existence. He'd politely attempted to sniff her but was so rudely rebuffed. How did Quiet-Human expect him to understand what she was trying to communicate if she didn't cooperate?

But the new scent got stronger, and Hugo sniffed. It smelt like another human – a new human. Also – most curiously – it was mixed with Quiet-Human's scent. Hugo looked up and saw the source of the scent.

Quiet-Human was speaking his name. She was pointing at the new human.

"Is this a new pack member?" Hugo asked. He wasn't expecting a reply, of course, but he had been raised to be polite.

New-Human knelt in front of him. She held out her hand. Hugo sniffed; there was his favorite treat, one that he only received on special occasions. He wasted no time taking it from New-Human's hand, and she ruffled the fur on his back. It felt nice. He decided to allow it.

"Hello," said Hugo. "It's lovely to meet you. Thank you for the treat." He bounded up on his hind legs and kissed her cheeks.

His human patted him. It was apparent that her approval meant he was right, and New-Human was part of their pack now.

When the humans got up and walked away, Hugo trotted after them, stopping briefly to investigate the other things that smelt of New-Human. Perhaps one might have a treat for him, like New-Human had.

When New-Human stopped, he took the opportunity to sniff at her in case she might have more treats for him. There were none, and so Hugo decided that his energy was better spent finding a place to nap. Hugo padded away, dodging the humans' hands as he went.

The large doggy-bed in the middle of the house was his favorite place for afternoon naps (Brittany called it a couch). Specifically, the spot in the middle that was cool in the morning and warm in the afternoon. He put his paws up and barked once for the humans' attention.

Quiet-Human picked him up and put him on the couch. Hugo licked Quiet-Human's hand gratefully, curled up, and went to sleep.

* * *

"I think he likes you," said Marley happily.

Quinn smiled nervously. "I hope so." She watched Hugo curl up into a ball of fur and close his eyes.

"He'll get used to you. After all, you're not going anywhere." Marley slung an arm around Quinn's waist and kissed her cheek.

* * *

As time passed, there were more things in his house that carried New-Human's scent. Which was a problem, since _her_ things now outnumbered _his_ things.

If he didn't know better, he'd say that New-Human wasn't just part of the pack, she was part of his _house_. Which – Hugo didn't have a problem with.

Much of a problem with.

Most of the changes were tolerable. It was okay if he wasn't allowed into Quiet-Human's doggy bed sometimes now. Hugo could even tolerate it if the humans interrupted him from a nap to evict him from the bed. Rude, but humans did strange things. Like ignore the fact he needed ear scratches because they were busy with each other.

But some of the things they did were truly outrageous, which no sane dog would tolerate.

The door woke Hugo from his mid-morning nap. He was irritated, at first (at this rate, he was going to be late for his early-afternoon snooze) until he heard a familiar voice. His ears pricked forward.

"Brittany!" said Hugo eagerly, rushing to the front door as fast as his legs could get him.

She immediately knelt down to pet him. "Hi, Hugo," said Brittany, scratching the perpetually-itchy spot behind his right ear. "How are you?"

"I have a new human!" Hugo lay down so she could rub his belly.

"So I've heard. Have you been nice to her?"

"Very." He'd barked at her only once this week, when she'd sat in his spot on the couch by mistake. It was important to him that everyone in the hierarchy knew their place. And there'd been one or two times his meals were late because the humans were doing something behind a closed door and wouldn't open it despite his whining at the door.

Quiet-Human was never late when feeding him before New-Human. It would happen occasionally when New-Human joined the pack, but that got more frequent now that she was part of the house.

New-Human was disrupting the pack hierarchy, and Hugo was Not Amused.

He hadn't barked at them (too much), but he'd ignored New-Human whenever she'd tried to play with him. After all, Quiet-Human had never missed a feeding time before New-Human had joined the pack.

Brittany laughed. "Hugo, you barked at her?"

"Once!"

"You know you're not supposed to bark at humans."

He wagged his tail to show her he'd heard, but otherwise gave no sign he was willing to comply. Hugo followed her to the sofa and put his paws up on the seat, waiting to be lifted into his favorite spot.

Much to his dismay, New-Human sat there instead. Hugo yapped indignantly; when she didn't seem to notice, he pawed at Quiet-Human, who bent over and picked him up. He wasted no time nosing into New-Human's side, trying to get her to move.

"Hugo!" He was lifted again, this time up and away. Sometimes, he really hated being small. The Great Dane from down the street was never subjected to the indignities he endured on a regular basis.

Quiet-Human was talking. He couldn't understand it, but she wasn't chasing New-Human away, and Hugo guessed the odds were not in his favor.

"She's in _my _spot! Mine!" he whined. Now was the perfect time for him to be occupying this doggy bed, because any humans that happened to be next to him would usually pet him – today, that meant Brittany. Hugo knew the humans would never understand his flawless logic, so he wriggled desperately, trying to adequately convey all the fury his tiny doggy body held. "Brittany, help!"

But Brittany, the traitor, was laughing at him. Hugo yelped his outrage, promising vengeance at a later date.

He was put on the floor. Hugo stalked off to his doggy bed in a huff.

* * *

His humans hunted as a pack. They would leave him to guard the house, and return after an eternity. It was rare to find one without the other.

The couch was occupied when he padded into the room. New-Human sat in his spot, and Hugo was displeased.

She noticed his presence. New-Human cooed at him, but Hugo was firm. He was not easily swayed –

– until she pulled out his special treat.

Exceptions would be made. Hugo was flexible. He approached, tail wagging to show her he wasn't bearing a grudge for being evicted. Hugo allowed himself to be lifted onto the sofa in exchange for the treat. "This doesn't mean anything in the long-term, however," he informed her as he crunched up his treat.

But New-Human surprised him by moving over. Hugo stared, surprised, but decided not to read too much into it. He sprawled, belly-up, and was pleased when she promptly started rubbing his belly.

"This is an acceptable apology," he told her. "I hope we can put this incident behind us."

She was talking to him. He pricked his ears forward politely as he looked at her, and thought about his dinner.

Hugo supposed he could get used to this.

* * *

"He's really taken to you," complained Marley. "He likes you more than me."

Quinn laughed. "I just have a way with animals, I guess." She crossed the room in search of her book, Hugo trotting at her heels.

"I'm jealous."

"Nothing's stopping you from following me around the house, too," teased Quinn.

"That sounds like an invitation."

When Quinn sat down, Hugo immediately placed his paws on her knees. She picked him up and let him settle on the couch, curled up into her side.

Marley immediately flopped into Quinn's lap. Quinn squealed as Hugo squirmed away with a bark. "You're squishing me!"

"You let Hugo sit on you." She stretched out a hand to ruffle his fur as he stared at them in dismay; Hugo moved out of her reach.

"He's much lighter and smaller."

Marley gasped. "That is so not how to talk to your girlfriend. You take that back, Fabray, or you'll be sharing Hugo's doggy bed tonight."

"Mmm, is that so?" Quinn put her book to one side, wrapping her arms around Marley. She started planting kisses on Marley's neck.

Hugo, unnoticed by both, gave a disgusted huff. He retreated to the farthest corner of the sofa. With a little luck, they'd remember he was still here, and give him the attention he deserved as compensation for putting up with these indignities.


End file.
